


it has been before and it shall be again

by SixPonderous



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Hate Sex, Headcanon based upon actual match, M/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 16:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11810214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SixPonderous/pseuds/SixPonderous
Summary: The match photographs don't say it all. Not even close.





	it has been before and it shall be again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thesecretdetectivecollection](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretdetectivecollection/gifts).



> Me?! Finally posting Carraville?! Happiest of belated birthdays Ayesha!
> 
> (find me on tumblr @pepgabbyiola)

This is how it goes then:

Old Trafford. Northwest Derby. 2010.

2-1 to United. 

(Doesn't matter: Chelsea take home the silverware. United take second. Liverpool take seventh.)

It's a foul. Gary Neville and Jamie Carragher get into a fight that their mates have to pull them out of and Howard Webb threatens bookings.

Gary's hand brushes accidentally against the front of Carragher's shorts and he recoils as if he's been burned. Jamie's blue eyes darken dangerously and he grips Neville by the chest and shoves him, ignoring his angry yelling in return and retorting with some of his own.

"This isn't over." Carragher shoves him once more while Webb has got his back turned.

Gary's captain. Scousers clearly don't know decorum if it socked their faces right in. Gary stalks off before he loses his mind and gets a red card for his thoughts.

United's triumph feels even sweeter after losing in Anfield earlier in the season. Gary smugly looks over at a seething Jamie Carragher.

_This isn't over_. 

Gary barely makes it in the tunnel when a strong grip forces him into a nearby supply closet and Gary shoves Carragher away, putting up his hands in preparation for a proper brawl.

Carragher doesn't reciprocate. He keeps his distance and looks at Gary, lofty, and cackles.

"You honestly think you can take me in a fist fight? How fucking stupid are you?"

Gary takes a threatening step closer. Jamie takes another one back. 

"I know you want me." Jamie taunts, gripping his cock over his ugly shorts in a way that's meant to be threatening, a dare to say no and a dare to say yes. Gary's eyes flick down, an involuntary movement. "Feeling me up like that on the pitch. Lucky for you, I'll let you have it."    
   
Jamie has a lot of cock when he's half-hard. Long and thick, filling his big hand. He takes the dare. Gary Neville doesn't back down from a challenge.   
   
" _You_ want  _me_." He counters, a hiss. "Can't get your filthy Scouse paws off of me, you moronic fuck."   
   
Gary's hard. It's obvious in his shorts.

It's not even Carragher that's the reason. In fact, he looks fucking disgusting in the hideous grey away kit, clinging to his body from sweat, and more that Gary would very much like to celebrate United's victory with sexual service from a Scouser.   
   
Jamie's smirk widens to a grin. They're circling each other in the storage room, filled with organized, innocent rows of Man United gear and equipment.   
   
"You're an ugly rat, but I bet you're a needy fucking shag, aren't you?" Jamie steps closer, insinuating himself into Gary's space. He's only an inch or two taller than Gary but he's much bigger, broader, and he towers over him. "Bet you're a screamer. Begging for cock. Just had to touch me on the pitch. Whore."   
   
Gary smirks languidly and looks away, feigning boredom. "Wouldn't you like to know."   
   
He backs Gary right into the wall, gritting his teeth in annoyance. Gary's eyes fixate on Jamie's full bottom lip, shockingly plush-looking. "What makes you think I'd want to fuck you anyway?"   
   
Jamie grips Gary's hips, bruisingly hard, and grinds their cocks together. They both exhale sharply, refusing to break eye contact but suddenly Gary wants those lips, wants to taste that bitterness of sweet defeat on Carragher's tongue and he surges upwards, distance kilometers apart, and kisses him. He's achingly hard now and done with talking, listening to Carragher's disgusting accent.   
   
It's the right move, clearly. Jamie's cock twitches against Gary's at the contact and he makes a primal growling sound that gets Gary physically hot. It's more of a clash of tongue and teeth and lips than a kiss: aggressive, biting. Jamie yanks down both of their shorts, freeing their erections.   
   
"Stop kissing me like you're a needy bird. Suck me off." He pushes Gary firmly down onto his knees, hard enough for pain to shoot through him but fuck, it's so good-- he bites back a moan Jamie doesn't deserve to hear and closes his lips around the leaking tip of Jamie's fat cock, instinct taking over. Loathe Gary is to admit, it's  _magnificent_.    
   
For a Scouser.   
   
Gary hasn't sucked a man off in ages, especially not a man as blessed as Carragher, but that's more than fine-- he's in no mood to be doing tricks, just needs Jamie to come so the favor can be returned. He jerks Jamie quickly with his hand while he sucks the head. Carragher's moaning obnoxiously, fisting Gary's hair just this side of painful.   
   
The faster Gary gets to pain, the better.   
   
Carragher doesn't need to see the growing spot of precome leaking through Gary's kit shorts.   
   
"Such a good cocksucker, I'm shocked someone as ugly as you's had practice. A mouth's a mouth though, I'll bet someone took pity on you-- Becks, probably. He's...charitable."   
   
Gary snarls and pulls off completely, internally pleased with Jamie's annoyed moan. "I'll break your fucking nose if you don't shut your twat mouth."   
   
"Ooh,  _nervy_." Jamie throws his head back and barks a laugh. "Too bad someone already got to yours. Keep going, I'm gonna come and if you  _behave_ , I'll let you swallow it." He swipes his saliva-slick cock across Gary's swollen, pouty lips. " _Suck_."   
   
"Fuck you." Gary growls again but the quicker he gets Carragher off, the faster he'll get off and go home and get drunk so he does, but only for himself and not because Jamie's demanding it.   
   
"No hands." Jamie bats Gary's hand away. "Just your mouth, come on-- I'm close." Gary swallows around him, somewhat obediently and slowly sinks lower, as close to the base as he can and he's rewarded with a wrecked whine from the ugly Scouse prick and Gary firmly holds his hips back, Carragher obviously wants to thrust further, to make him choke on it.   
   
Jamie doesn't warn Gary when he comes, only groans loudly and floods his mouth with sperm, so much that it leaks out of the corners of Gary's mouth-- he swallows, not out of the kindness of his heart and more respect for Manchester United's supply room, he's not about to sully it with Scouse semen. Gary stands up on unsteady legs and glowers, angrily wiping his mouth. Jamie smirks, unapologetic. "Thought you'd look prettier with my come dripping down your chin, too bad that's not the case--  _fuck_!"   
   
Gary pulls back his hand from a particularly hard slap to Jamie's jaw, seething and breathing heavily but still incredibly hard, maybe harder now from the satisfaction of finally getting Carragher to shut the fuck up. He forces Jamie's hand to his leaking cock and claps a hand over his loud mouth.   
   
"I'd make you suck me off but you talk too much, you'd be fucking horrid. Use your hand, make it good." There's an implicit threat in his tone and for a moment Jamie represses a shiver, breathing hotly into Gary's hand. He jerks Gary quickly, a thumb swiping over the precome-soaked tip on each upstroke, just like Gary likes. He moans and laughs low in his throat, thrusting into Jamie's fist. It doesn't take him long and he comes in hot pulses between them, on their kits. Gary unceremoniously steps away, wipes the semen from his shirt and smears it across the Liverpool crest, utterly desecrating it.

It felt better than his orgasm.   
   
"Surely you know the way out. Don't care either way." Gary leaves the supply closet while Jamie's still frozen in shock. 

This is how it goes now:

  1. Sky Sports Studios. Northwest Derby. Pre-match. Title race open.



"Gary!" Jamie sings (horribly), taking his seat on the right of David and looking over at Gary with a grin. "Loser buys pints?"

"So much for impartial." Gary mutters, but it's affectionate and David laughs along. Jamie Carragher being impartial about Liverpool, at least off-air, is a joke.

How did they even get here, really? When did this become Gary's life?

There's been no mention, not even an implication of the 2010 derby. Gary even forgets about it from time to time—except for when Jamie stretches and the tiniest sliver of skin on his incredibly-fit abdomen is exposed. Or when Jamie throws his arms around Gary's shoulders, his touch so oddly tender. Or when they're laughing together, almost to the point of tears, over any little thing.

Gary thinks about it far too frequently for an event seven years ago. 

Jamie's no doubt forgotten, probably got blackout drunk with the Liverpool lads post-match to forget the entire result, forget that the ugly rat-boy Gary Neville sucked his cock. Jamie makes it rather clear his opinion on that has not changed with time. It doesn't have to. He rubs the bump of his busted nose self-consciously anyway.

(There's a reason Gary doesn't like that he remembers it so clearly. But he hadn't been too nice either. That's football.)

(Or something like that.)

"Answer the question Gary." Jamie urges. "Pints or no?"

"Get that wallet ready, James."

 It's a draw at Anfield.

"No pints then." Gary decides, throwing his jacket over his arm and sighing on their way out into the studio parking lot. "What a dull match that was. Ours weren't boring, were they? In our playing days?"

Jamie looks the slightest bit put out. "You sure no? I'll pay anyway, like. Sort of planned my night to get utterly pissed."

"You can still go, you know that right?"

Gary sort of feels like being alone, which isn't typical for him. He usually gets pints with Jamie after derby days. Today though, he can't stop his brain from thinking at a thousand kilometers an hour about their sexual encounter. For someone so good at forgetting and compartmentalizing, there's something about Jamie's grey shirt that brings back specific unwanted memories.

Semen on the Liverpool crest.

The taste of Jamie's come, thick on his tongue.

The kissing refusal.

Ugly.

"What's wrong with you today?" Jamie asks, and it's so much kinder than Gary really wants to hear. He ducks away and shakes his head.

"Disappointing result. You know how it is."

"I know you, mate. We've been friends for how long now?"

He's so open and earnest that Gary can't help but smile. Jamie does that to him now, has done that to him for years at this point. He gently nudges Jamie's shoulder. "We're friends?" He jokes. Jamie laughs in that  _absurd_ giggle of his that no man nearing forty ought to have.

"We've been quite a lot of things, haven't we?" Jamie says thoughtfully, after a moment of amiable silence. "Rivals. Enemies. England teammates. Friends." A beat. "Whatever in between."

"Whatever in between." Gary echoes quietly. "I remember something like that."

A hand on the back of his head.

A hand around his cock.

A rush and a push.

Jamie's blushing, visible even in the dying evening light. He swallows visibly. Gary regrets. Jamie hesitates only a moment before putting his hands on Gary's shoulders, looking just a few centimeters down into Gary's eyes. 

"I remember too."

Gary looks away, laughing without much humor. "Perils of a good memory, I suppose?" He's good at keeping his tone even.

"I didn't know how to bring it up—I wanted to, before. I just haven't the nerve. I was cruel. Angry. I'm sorry."

Gary shrugs and steps out of Jamie's grasp. "It's alright mate. We all make mistakes. No worries of a repeat, all in the distant past and all."

Jamie shakes his head vigorously. "It's  _not_ alright, you wouldn't—wouldn't be acting like this if it were."

"How do you  _want_ me to act? Want me to apologize? Then I'm sorry, truly."

"I don't want an apology!" Jamie wrings his hands and rubs his eyes. "I want—honestly Gary, I want a do-over. I know—it's so stupid, we're mates now. Want to make it up to you. I don't even know how you feel about it—us—at all, if you weren't completely revolted by my behavior or my  _looks_ or anything." He's pleading pathetically and he knows it, but Jamie Carragher isn't above putting his heart on his sleeve when he cares about something. Someone.

"Jamie, seriously, you don't have to make anything up to me. I don't--" His voice drops in case anyone is nearby. "I don't need a pity fuck. Just because we don't hate each other like we used to doesn't mean you have to pretend I'm attractive." 

There it is, the uncomfortable truth.

Jamie's reaction is immediate, visceral. "You're gorgeous."

Gary freezes. "Fuck off."

Jamie closes the distance and gently traces Gary's cheekbone with his thumb. Gary shudders an exhale and he wants to move, to get in his car and drive off to the nearest liquor store but his body stays put.

"Gary." Jamie's so close, their foreheads almost pressed together. Jamie's hands fall to Gary's hips, the touch holding him steady. "Gary, my god, surely you've noticed everyone giving me hell for the way I look at you? Pretty sure David jokes about it every week, even. Twitter thinks I'm pathetic. I _am_ pathetic about you though. I really am."

Gary still hasn't moved, hasn't recoiled or otherwise indicated some disgust. Either a good sign or a bad one. Jamie hesitates a moment, then tips Gary's chin upwards just enough for Gary to close the gap between them completely. Jamie's lips are full and plush like Gary remembers. He wraps his arms around Jamie's waist, extremely unsure. There's a hot, breathy exhale into Gary's lips and Jamie deepens their kiss, slowly swiping his tongue across Gary's lower lip, taking it gently between his teeth and letting go.

"You're gorgeous." Jamie says again, more insistently. "I was angry and mean, back then."

"I was too."

(He doesn't regret slapping him, that bit was enjoyable.)

Their lips meet again, hot and urgent, and it's better than the handjob orgasm by a long shot. This isn't Jamie Carragher, vice-captain of Liverpool and a certifiable Scouse twat. This is Jamie Carragher, grey-templed, his co-pundit on Sky _and_ a certifiable Scouse twat. Jamie can't stop grinning when they break apart and Gary huffs a laugh.

"God, look at us. Like kids, or something."

"A million times more exciting than the match, though." Jamie links their fingers together and brings Gary's hand to his lips. "Pints then bed? I'm rock hard right now though, I could also go for bed then pints."

" _Christ_ , yeah-- get in the fucking car or we're not even going to make it there."

Jamie smirks and presses his palm against the front of Gary's trousers. "Fitting though."

()

(Jamie's still there when Gary groggily wakes up in the morning, drooling on the pillow and sprawled out naked and unceremonious on the hotel sheets. Gary has to laugh, wipes his friend's mouth and going in for a thousandth kiss.)

(That's how it goes.)


End file.
